Kravat. The Silent Dance. Eerily similar to the boast dancing of young Reds.
Nothing is silent about the boys’ curses. I feel no pity for thesestudents. They all murdered someone the night before, just like me. There are no innocents in this game. The only thing that worries me is seeing how Cassius dispatched his victims. He is grace and finesse. I am rage and momentum. He could kill me in a second, if he knew my secret.
“What a lark!” he croons. “You were gory terrifying! You just took his weapon! Gory fast! Glad we weren’t paired earlier. Prime stuff! What have you to say for yourselves, you sneaking fools?”
The captured Golds just swear at us.
I stand over them and cock my head. “Is this the first time you’ve lost at something?” No answer. I frown. “Well, that must be embarrassing.”
Cassius’s face shines—for a moment he’s forgotten his brother’s death. I haven’t. I feel darkness. Hollow. Evil when the adrenaline fades. Is this what Eo wanted? For me to play games? Fitchner arrives in the air above us, clapping his hands. His gravBoots glimmer golden. He’s got his ham slice between his teeth.
“Reinforcements come!” he laughs.
Titus and a half dozen of the faster boys and girls run toward us from the highlands. Opposite, a golden shape rises from the distant river fortress and flies toward us. A beautiful woman with short-cropped hair settles next to Fitchner in the air. The Proctor of House Ceres. She carries a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“Mars! A picnic!” she calls, referring to him by his House’s deity.
“So who arranged for this drama, Ceres?” Fitchner asks.
“Oh, Apollo, I suppose. He’s lonely up in his mountain estates. Here, this is zinfandel from his vines. Much better than last year’s varietal.”
“Delicious!” Fitchner proclaims. “But your boys were squatting in the grass. Almost as if they expected the picnic to spontaneously manifest. Suspicious, no?”
“Details!” Proctor Ceres laughs. “Pedantic details!”
“Well, here’s a detail. It seems two of mine are worth five of yours this year, my dear.”
“These pretty boys?” Ceres snickers. “I thought the vain ones went to Apollo and Venus.”
“Oho! Well, yours certainly fight like housewives and farmers. Well placed, they were.”
“Don’t judge them yet, you cad. They are midDraft picks. My highDrafts are elsewhere, earning their first calluses!”
“Learning the ovens? Huzzah,” Fitchner declares ironically. “Bakers do make the best rulers, so I’ve heard.”
She nudges him. “Oh, youdevil. No wonder you interviewed for the Rage Knight post. Such a scoundrel!”
They clink their glasses together as we watch from the ground.
“How I love orientation day,” Ceres titters. “Mercury just let a hundred thousand rats loose in Jupiter’s citadel. But Jupiter was ready because Diana tattled and arranged the delivery of a thousand cats. Jupiter’s boys won’t go hungry like last year. Cats will be as fat as Bacchus.”
“Diana is a harlot,” Fitchner declares.
“Be kind!”
“I was. I sent her a great phallic cake filled with live woodpeckers.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You beast!” Ceres caresses his arm and I note the free-loving demeanor these people have. I wonder if other Proctors are lovers as well. “Her fortress will be riddled with holes. Oh, the sound must be horrible. Well played, Mars. They say Mercury is the trickster, but your japes always have a certain…flair!”
“Flair, eh? Well, I’m sure I could rustle up some tricks for you on Olympus…”
“Huzzah,”she coos suggestively.
They toast again, floating above their sweating and bloody students. I can’t help but laugh. These people are mad. Bloodydamn crazy in their empty Golden heads. How are they my rulers?
